Stress Management
by v2point0
Summary: Transformers: Prime. Breakdown is in one of his 'moods'. The good doctor knows just what he needs. Breakdown/Knock Out


Been kinda working on Transformers stuff the past couple days thanks to Prime and Botcon helping to inspire me again. So, anyway. Hopefully you'll see more fics in the future. I'm hoping to complete Bonded, as well, for those who read that.

**Title**: Stress Management  
><strong>Rating<strong>: MA  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: sexuality (sparksex), mild profanity  
><strong>Summary<strong>: _Transformers: Prime_. Breakdown is in one of his 'mood's. The good doctor knows just what he needs. Breakdown/Knock Out(/Breakdown)  
><strong>Notes<strong>: **deathzero5** and **humblebot** requested KO/BD, with KO topping from the bottom. idk if I got it right but *shrug* SEX IS SEX.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I own nothing.

* * *

><p>There was only so much pounding Autobots' heads in could do to alleviate the aggression.<p>

You would think after spending an hour terrorizing a human city, throwing cars into burning buildings and nearly sending that moronic Bulkhead and pesky Bumblewhatever to Primus Himself would do the trick. The stress would just roll off of his fists leaving major dents and tears in the plating of his enemies, and there he would find zen.

But instead, even after Breakdown was sent packing (by his own accord, thank you very much), the prickly irritation had not subsided. Not completely. Maybe because he hadn't finished the two off, maybe because the fight and destruction simply was not enough. But no matter the cause, his heart or his shoes, Breakdown started a fight with a full blown temper tantrum and left unsatisfied.

When Breakdown returned to the _Nemesis_, he expected to find Starscream fussing and pacing at the door, ready to assault him with a rant like a disciplinary, overly strict step-mother. But there was no sign of the self-proclaimed Decepticon leader. Perhaps that was a good thing-Breakdown's fist might have slipped into his fuselage. Rather, greeting him was another nameless Eradicon who made no eye contact; simply opened the bay door for him and kept his focus on the computer panel.

Breakdown walked past the silent Eradicon, watched him as he moved. He stopped then, frowned and looked away. The drone hadn't bothered to look up once, spindly fingers typing up a storm. The giant 'Con just wouldn't have that- And no doubt Starscream would give him an audioful if he tore off the Eradicon's empty face. So, instead Breakdown turned and raising his giant arms, advanced on the nameless soldier with a booming, "RAAGH!"

The Eradicon did not even flinch. He looked into his superior's optics, no expression on such an empty face. Breakdown expected the bastard to squeal and flee for his spark. But then, perhaps, these sort of sudden, unpredictable outbursts were common to the Eradicon and his kin- After all, they had been serving under Starscream for some time now.

Breakdown shivered, disgusted and angry and slightly offended. Before he could kick the Eradicon square in the pelvic panel, the drone rose his head to the clicking of an incoming message, darting quickly off to work. Breakdown lowered his foot, nearly swung it in the air-might have been a rather embarrassing splat if he lost balance. With no one else around to bully, or actually get a reaction from, the giant mech marched off to his quarters, a mountain on his shoulders.

Maybe if he busied himself with work, Breakdown would feel better. At least, become distracted enough to forget his sudden bad mood. But buffering Megatron was getting fucking ridiculous; with all the attention he put on his comatose commander's chassis, you could practically slide or eat off of it. But, still, maybe he had missed a spot? He wondered if that were possible, given all the time and energy he put in dolling up Megatron, fingers idly punching in the code on his door.

"And here I thought I wouldn't see you for another cycle or so."

Breakdown grumbled something as he entered his chambers, door hissing closed behind him. The room's single light source barely stretched out to the far corners of the massive room, the viewscreen wide and displaying a NASCAR race. Blocking the center of the screen was a sitting figure's silhouette, the top of a pointed helm and a hand rested back, a long cygarette between two languid digits.

"Well?"

"I got bored, okay," Breakdown growled, moving further into the room. His optics caught the smoke wisping in thin curls from the edge of the electronic cygarette. "Why do you have to smoke in here? You know it stinks up the room."

The chair turned, Knock Out grinning at his companion. "Well, well, well," he chortled, raising his tall glass of high grade, "_someone's_ in a bad mood. I thought you went out to vent all those nasty vibes off."

"I told you, I got bored."

Knock Out sipped his drink. "Ah, you must be in another one of your 'phases,'" he said. He stood, waltzing to the larger 'Con's side. "I've known you long enough to tell when you're in one of these _moods_. If a good Autobot beating and torture session can't shake off the anxiety..."

Breakdown bristled. "I'm not having a moodswing," he insisted, "I'm just _bored_."

The red Decepticon nodded. "Mm, sure," he said and took another swallow of his energon.

Breakdown nodded curtly at the screen. "Why are you watching that?" he demanded.

Knock Out brushed a hand to his chest, feigned disappointment and hurt. "Why, Breakdown, I get enough ribbing from our beloved Starscream about my personal tastes. To think you'd follow suit!"

"I'm not! Just... They're going in circles." Breakdown spun fingers around. "Endless circles, and for what?"

Knock Out glanced back at the screen, profile lit by its glow. "Ah, but I don't watch it for the 'plot,'" he snickered. Lips pursed around his cygarette, Breakdown watching closely as he took a long drag. "It's the adrenaline. The thrill. The _speed_." He hissed the final word, punctuated by a smothering cloud of smoke. "Oh, and maybe some of the models look rather enticing." He cocked a brow as one blazing red and orange car streaked like a comet tail across the viewscreen.

Breakdown blanched. "You can be such a xenophiliac."

"I prefer to think of myself as someone with an elite sense of aesthetic taste," Knock Out purred, "a connoisseur of beauty, if you will."

The larger 'Con wrinkled his small nosepiece at the racing cars. "S'pose I don't fit in," he snorted, "since they're all petite and tiny little things." Good for crushing. "Ain't got no plating on them limbs."

Knock Out swept forward. "Green is a complimentary color for only a few, Breakdown," he purred. Two fingers stroked beneath his comrade's chin, turning his cheekplates warm. "I'm afraid green would just clash with your current scheme."

Breakdown didn't understand the idiom, blinked.

Knock Out chuckled. "You're jealous."

That word struck a cord, however. Breakdown sized up his shoulders. "Jealous? Jealous of those little sparkling toy cars!" he spat, indignantly.

Knock Out's optic ridges perked as he looked at his companion over his drink. "Are you?" he pressed.

"No!" Breakdown childishly stamped a foot.

The red mech swished a hand at him, snickering. "I'm only pulling your circuits, dear friend," he said. Breakdown glowered. "How inconsiderate of me, I know." He placed his drink gracefully on the table behind him, covered with medical instruments and equipment. Knock Out reached up and pat-patted his grumpy colleague on the cheek. "But you're such fun to tease when you're in a mood."

"I'm not in a 'mood,'" Breakdown hissed.

Knock Out nodded half-heartedly, appearing to agree. "Right," he said. Clenching the cygarette between denta, he swept around Breakdown, giving his shoulder wheel a gentle slap. Obediently and with a heavy, annoyed sigh, the giant 'con flopped to a sit. Knock Out stretched his hands out along his his shoulders, up the wheels and along plating. "Perhaps what you need is a good energon bath and massage. You know, it won't hurt to try."

"Boring."

Knock Out's thread fingers along thick arm plating. There came a ripple that made the armor clak quietly. "Well, let's assess your choices, shall we?" he said, free hand plucking the cygarette from his lips. He drummed his digits between the nook of Breakdown's neck and shoulder. "You tried beating the slag out of some Autobots and causing a little collateral damage in the process-but that didn't seem to work, now did it?" He took a heavy puff, rolling smoke pouring from his lips. Breakdown frowned as the sweet scented cloud passed his face, just barely brushing his cheek.

"You're too stubborn to try and _relax_," Knock Out continued, "so an energon bath is out of the equation." He tapped the edge of the cygarette to his chin, contemplated. "Where does that leave us? Oh, yes." He grinned pearly whites. "A massage."

Before Breakdown could protest, Knock Out's digits slipped into the seams along his shoulders, between plates and wheels. He choked on his groan, but faltered nonetheless. "I'm pretty sure Starscream would not approve of you disabling and breaking his precious Eradicon toys before he can," the red 'Con chuckled. Skilled digits stroked and pet, and Breakdown felt his body melt into the floor. "But then again, he's much too busy making faces and insulting Lord Sleeping Beautycon."

Breakdown mumbled, "Not like... He'd miss one..."

"Oh?" Knock Out's palms moved in hard circles against dented plating. The larger mech bit hard into his bottom lip. "So, would you rather go and bully one of the drones?" His hands stopped suddenly and Breakdown grimaced, the surging flare of irritation returning. "Or," another billow of smoke slithered past his face, "I can continue..."

Breakdown did not move. Knock Out waited a moment, puffing on his cygarette. But when the larger 'con stayed perfectly still, Knock Out had his answer. Hooking the cygarette back into his mouth, the red mech pinched and rolled loose dermal plating in his hands, back and forth, turning his companion boneless.

"This is nice, isn't it?" Knock Out crooned. His digits moved farther south, resting beneath Breakdown's arms. He gave a little twitch. "I always find a good," push, knead, slide, "deep massage helps work out the kinks and snags of a Very Bad Day." Fingers fluttered along the beating armor flanking his waist. "It helps release tension and anxiety," Knock Out continued, voice smooth and honey dipped, "where other measures might have failed."

Breakdown's body was warming, hot and heavy. The hands, working between professional and personal, sent him between bliss and an itch that racked his body every time a certain spot was hit and caressed. But then the hands halted and Breakdown widened his optics, as if snapped back to reality.

"Oh, but I forgot option number four!" Knock Out said. He tsked and shook his head. "And it's _so good_for..." Breakdown bit his teeth together when the fingers smoothed along his inner thighs. "Helping with relief." The hands worked back up, along his abdomen; Knock Out's hands rested over his chestplate, where beneath a spark thundered in its chamber. "And, unlike fighting and bullying," he said and then his sharp digits sunk into seams, sharp and rough and Breakdown groaned loudly, "it benefits both parties involved."

Sometimes Breakdown wished his partner was as obvious and open about some of his intentions like he was his pride and vanity. With a growl, Breakdown could not deny the surge of desire overwhelming the dwindling rage. He turned, looked at his boss's smarmy, pleased smile before yanking the cygarette from his hand and shoving him down.

Knock Out sat forward on elbows. "Watch it, watch it," he chuckled, hardly concerned, "I just got a wax job yesterday!" Breakdown reacted by pitching the cygarette at the viewscreen. Knock Out sneered, leer crooked and oily. He raised his hands, palms swept over the pulsating chestplates above him. "Tell me: is this what you want?"

Breakdown grunted something akin to a "yes, obviously." Knock Out smirked, a claw sinking along one door seam. He gave a small tug, and they opened obediently, quick and anxious. The chamber doors were all ready split, the spark peeking out from a thin window. It made Knock Out chuckle, causing his assistant's optics to dim with shame.

The red Decepticon laid his arms back, chest lifted. "You know what to do then," he purred, clicking two fingers on the steel floor.

Breakdown nodded quickly, hands weighed heavily against his partner's chest. He stroked the seams, the appreciative moan slowly retracting the plating. Breakdown swallowed, felt the gape along his open chamber spread, inch by inch as Knock Out's own chamber, as aesthetically pleasing as the nested wiring and paint that slimmed his maroon-red figure, reared itself from its home. Once his chestplates had slid and tucked themselves away, leaving his chamber open and vulnerable, the smaller mech braced his elbows to the ground and rose to a sit.

"Do it just like I taught you," Knock Out said thickly. He coiled fingers around the back of Breakdown's helm, guided the antsy Decepticon's head down. Breakdown gripped curved hips, squeezed until he was sure his partner wouldn't bitch about ruining or denting anything. The hand continued to move him down, face closing in toward the beating chamber.

Optics dimming, Breakdown let his nosepiece guide gently just over the chamber's doors. Knock Out groaned, optics shuttering. The protective plating pulsed back a small spark of electricity that danced along Breakdown's lips, tingling ever so slightly. It took a few more nudges, petting against the doors before they finally opened, somewhere between virginal and wanton.

The next part always seemed to benefit Knock Out more than Breakdown. But if he did it just right, he'd earn his own kicks. Preparing himself for what was ahead, Breakdown lashed his tongue along the edge of the spark. The reaction was instantaneous; Knock Out gasped, squeezed the back of his head; the spark winked out a surge of energy that temporarily numbed the sensory receptors along Breakdown's face and glossa. It was worth it, if only for the noises and half-restrained wriggles his boss made.

The larger 'Con continued lavishing the spark with his tongue, pausing every few seconds to regain balance from the electric shocks. "That's it, that's it," Knock Out groaned, rolling forward. The spark ground against Breakdown's lips, and his optics cast momentary white static from the sudden impact. "Let's not... Forget the rest of handsome little me..." The red Decepticon was near breathless, taking Breakdown's free hand and forcing it in circles over the small of his back. Once his partner caught on and began raking fingers along the metal, Knock Out's back curved forward, pushing the spark back hard against Breakdown's glossa.

Knock Out was coming undone in his hands, beneath the ministrations of his tongue and fingers. But before Breakdown could no longer ignore his own growing tension, Knock Out's fingers were hooked at the parted doors of his chamber. He exhaled, sucked in electric air over his partner's brilliant blue spark. The hand slipped inside, servos beginning to stroke at the throbbing orb of energy and life inside.

Breakdown jerked his head back with an undignified growl, optics squeezed shut. Knock Out tapped digits along his chin, mouth to his, not touching, not quite. "See? I thought you'd might like option number four," he chortled, optics flashing. He ran a thumb across the parted lips before meeting his partner's gaze.

With a pant, Breakdown thrust his head forward, locking them into a hungry kiss. Knock Out purred, taking his forceful glossa probing his mouth; in return, he clamped a hand around the spark, gave it a small twist-tease that sent the larger 'Con into a small jolt. They rocked against one another, hand to spark, another chipping away paint beneath sharp claws that Knock Out would no doubt complain about later.

Breakdown broke the kiss, rivets of clumsy coolant running along the edges of his chin. Knock Out kindly licked one clean and bopped his nose with a giggle. "So messy, my dear." A whimper followed his hand as he removed it from Breakdown's chamber, laying back. "Enough with foreplay. All this skirting around is much too slow for my taste."

Breakdown sneered. "You work the angles, I bring the force, isn't that right?"

The red mech just smirked and that was the flag waving _go_. With a scowl, Breakdown shoved himself down, spark colliding angrily, heavily with Knock Out's.

The smaller Decepticon howled, something pained and pleasured before a cackle followed. Knock Out threw his arms around his partner's neck. "Yes, exactly that, yes!" he tittered, CPU swimming in heat and steam and desire. He thrust up, body wiggling and rutting against the larger frame shadowing him completely, from head to toe.

Breakdown ground back, metal screeching and bending, paint flecked along blue and red and silver. Knock Out clenched denta, and not solely just from the hard sensation. He could only imagine the damage his new wax coating was getting right now. But the spark rolling against his kept him from thinking about anything for too long.

"Harder," Knock Out hissed, voice cracking, "_hard... er_."

Breakdown was all too happy to oblige. Knock Out's body creaked beneath him, crying and bending but it brought nothing but pure masochistic pleasure. Knock Out dug and thrashed claws into the back of his partner's neck and head, peeling away more paint and flakes of dermal metal. He bounced up and against, pausing to grind before falling back, letting Breakdown inflict the same actions upon him.

The lines began to blur as the speed increased and picked up. Knock Out had always been fond of sweet, sensual torture as he did the quick and dirty. Building from the former into the latter was the perfect mix. Now Knock Out's languid motions and calculated maneuvers disappeared for fast and furious. He yanked Breakdown down harder, harder and faster until the larger 'Con turned him stiff, even for only just a split second, taking his bottom lip in his teeth and biting.

The edge was closer, the two about to dangle over the abyss. Knock Out strained his neck back, inviting and Breakdown accepted. His dentas bit and nibbled along energon pumps and cords lining the long, thin throat, tasting something between bitter copper and smoke. Senses thrown into an erratic frenzy, the smell was actually intoxicating now and Breakdown bit down hard on one cord, enough to earn a small pindrop of purple energon on his glossa.

It had been enough to send Knock Out into climax. His spark spilled forth the pent up energy, flooded Breakdown's chamber. The giant 'Con winced and grunted, holding his partner until breaking point. It shot through his circuits like a fierce electric storm, lighting up every one of his sensory receptors. One optic flickered off, winked, came back online and when he looked down, his own spark still riding on excess energy, Knock Out was draped like silk in his arms, smiling cool and sleepy.

Breakdown glanced down at his spark, shivering, then back to Knock Out. "Oh, I _suppose_," the red mech smirked, rolling his optics. He laid back, offlined his optics. Breakdown continued riding against him, fighting for release. Knock Out whimpered, tired spark returning weak little pulses in an attempt to sedate its partner.

Fortunately for both mechs, Breakdown's climax came moments later. Knock Out writhed at the shared energy forced into his shuddering chamber and spark. But Breakdown was quick to sit back with a loud grunt and exhale, doors to both chamber and chest too lazy to close more than just a few inches.

Knock Out sat up, all ready neatly tucking himself away. He sat straight, locks and gears clicking back into place, one leg crossed over the other. "I'd ask if it was 'good for you,'" he smirked, producing another cygarette from a hip chamber. "But we both know the answer to that." _Fucking awesome_, his optics seemed to twinkle as he activated the cygarette and slipped it between his lips.

Breakdown slowly sat up, shaking his head. He glared groggily down at his partner as he enjoyed his cygarette. "Still hate it when you smoke in here," he mumbled.

Knock Out shifted forward and blew a faint cloud of smoke in Breakdown's face. "_You_track mud," he sneered. "Besides," he hummed, rolling the cygarette to the other corner of his mouth. An optic bridge quirked. "You have anything else I could be doing better with my mouth instead?"

Breakdown leered. "Couple things, yeah," he said, tracing a hand up his comrade's leg. "Let's assess your choices..."

THE END

**A/N**:

If there can be a cygar, there can be a cygarette. Dammit. The cygarette is pretty much like a combo of the cigarette and quellazaire. I just imagine Knock Out as the type who enjoys an occasional smoke and glass of high grade.

In this fic, cycle equals an hour.


End file.
